Attending college and experiencing my first year at a university has broadened my perspective on various aspects that I would have never expected. I have learned new study habits, made new friends, joined several organizations, and attended conferences about different social movements. However, as I was preoccupying myself with so many activities and experiencing new people, I realized that one simple question has drastically changed throughout one school year.
As a college student, I am always encountering new people every day and make small talk with many of the new faces I meet. One popular question that is always asked is, “Where are you from?” or “Where is home for you?” Everyone has different answers, but I am consistently hesitant whether I reply with the city I grew up or where I currently live on campus.
In the beginning of the school year, the question of where I am from or where I lived had such an easy reply. I always replied that I am from Southern California and very few knew exactly where my city actually was located. For the people who wanted to know specifically where I was from, I would explain how far away I live from Disneyland. As lame as it sounds, I got so excited when someone actually knew where I was from, because someone finally had an idea where it was—my “home."
College is supposed to be the best four years of my life and many advise that it becomes the next home away home. Yet, four years is such a short amount of time to finally settle in and call the place a “home." As a first year, I live in the designated freshman residential hall, but only for one academic school year. The place that I only live for less than 10 months is supposed to be my “home." The moment it finally feels like it is right, I have to move out and find a new place to call home. Then, the cycle pretty much restarts every school year as I live in various apartments and houses throughout the four years. The moment I feel comfortable enough to call a place my home, it slowly becomes a distant and empty room.
When I go back in the city where I grew up, everything is the same as before I left. My house is the same, my room is exactly how I left it, my dog greets me at the front door, and my family portraits are still hung on the blank white walls. Every little thing around me is exactly the same, but I feel so different every time I come “home." I feel like a guest in my own house, and it seems like just a mere visitation. All of my closest friends seem distant, even though we try to catch up for the lost time. I try to plug myself back into the place I called home, yet the more I try, the farther I become.
As the end of my first year approaches, I love the college that I chose and I have no regrets choosing the most beautiful campus I have ever seen. However, I still struggle finding my home and where I physically belong. It may be a while, but I am waiting for the day to find the place that I will call home.
